


Untitled

by mrsbobbysinger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dean Smokes, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s09e10 Road Trip, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsbobbysinger/pseuds/mrsbobbysinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knew he was weak; it wasn't news to him.  It didn't surprise him that it only took three days of mindless driving before he hit the coast and turned around: 1,585 miles.  He flipped Led Zeppelin IV twelve times in his tape deck, shortened his life span about two years with fast food and cigarettes, and punched his fist through one hotel wall before he found himself in a grimy motel room outside Lebanon two days later, his thumb hovering over the send button on his phone.  He hit delete instead—that was fifteen text messages erased in twice as many minutes.  Everything was numbers this past week; he wasn't sure where his brain would go if he stopped counting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Dean knew he was weak; it wasn’t news to him.  It didn’t surprise him that it only took three days of mindless driving before he hit the coast and turned around: 1,585 miles.  He flipped Led Zeppelin IV twelve times in his tape deck, shortened his life span about two years with fast food and cigarettes, and punched his fist through one hotel wall before he found himself in a grimy motel room outside Lebanon two days later, his thumb hovering over the send button on his phone.  He hit delete instead—that was fifteen text messages erased in twice as many minutes.  Everything was numbers this past week; he wasn’t sure where his brain would go if he stopped counting. 

Some things, the tally was so high that even he’s lost count. One more death on his shoulders.  Another home lost.  Letting down his family.  Walking away from Cas.

(Make that two hotel walls.)

Dean was hunched over the sink, running cold water over his swollen knuckles when the phone buzzed on the counter.  He let it go to voicemail, grabbing a beer and scrubbing his free hand through his hair.  He needed a trim, but his clippers were back in the bunker.  His pictures, his favorite shirt, that ugly picture that Ben had drawn for him in art class.  That’s what he got for letting himself pretend that he could ever deserve a home.  He only ever had a few possessions that he didn’t keep around for the express purpose of killing something; someone.  He couldn’t go back there now—he didn’t have anything with him that he usually grabbed for when he needed to remind himself that he was human. 

His cell phone buzzed again, a text this time.  It was an hour and three beers later before Dean dragged himself off the bed to look at the screen.

 

 

Dean sighed, and turned up the television.  It was another five minutes before he answered.

 

Dean got up to take a leak and get another beer.  He struggled out of his boots and jeans before he looked at the screen again.

Dean stared at the phone blankly for another twenty minutes.  He typed a few dismissive words in reply, but startled when it buzzed again in his hand.

 

He deleted his half-finished text and threw the phone to the end of the bed.  Dean turned off the television and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars.  He stared at the red glow of the bedside clock in the darkness for exactly seven minutes before sitting up and begrudgingly making his way to the bathroom.  He quickly showered for the first time in five days, shaved, brushed the stale beer and burger off his teeth, and changed into his cleanest shorts and t-shirt before falling into bed again.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered into the darkness, five minutes later.  Dean dug his nails into his thigh.   Cas wasn’t going to show up.  He didn’t even have the decency to answer a text message; the angel was probably done with his shit.

Ten minutes later he reached over the side of the bed and felt around blindly until he found his phone.  No texts.  Dean sighed and flopped back down on his pillow, tried to sleep.  After driving all night, he figured he was exhausted enough that only four beers should put him out without the dreams creeping though his carefully-constructed wall.

Dean was jolted awake a short time later by a soft knock on the door.  His gun was in his hand and pointed at the door before he was even fully conscious.  Dawn had provided enough light at this point that, after blinking fully awake, he could clearly see the outline of a familiar car parked in the space next to the Impala though the sheer curtains.  He’d forgotten to draw the drapes shut last night for security—just another tick on his list of failures. 

Dean sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face.  Another knock at the door—more insistent this time.  Dean padded across the room, and threw open the door, after only a cursory glance through the peephole.  He already knew who was on the other side.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean opened his mouth to offer a familiar, witty retort, but no sound emerged.  He eventually sighed and ushered Cas inside, closing the door behind the other man and tossing his gun on the table.

“How’d you find me?” he asked, watching the angel eye up the room like it had personally offended him.  He guessed it  _was_  a bit shittier than the holes he usually stayed in…

“I told you, there are only two motels in this town,” Cas said, irritation evident in his low tone.  “It didn’t take long to find you, Dean.  Your car isn’t exactly inconspicuous.”

“Are you seriously giving me crap about  _my_  car right now?” Dean said, incredulously, waving his hand in the general direction of the shining cliché in the parking lot.

“Why won’t you come home, Dean?”

And there it was. Angel-Cas, fully-suited up, head tilt, eye-squint: the whole shebang directed at Dean.  The Look, perfected over the years, threatening once again to turn him into an emotional mess.  Dean clenched his jaw around the words that always wanted to flow when he was around Cas.  He turned away, and sat on the bed.

“I’m too tired to get into this right now, man.  I’ve been driving for two days straight.  I just need to sleep.”  Dean was hunched over with his face in his hands, facing away from Cas.  He really was exhausted; that wasn’t a lie.  A larger part of him than he was willing to admit to, though, was hoping that his friend wouldn’t let him off that easy.  After a heartbeat too long of silence, Dean heard a familiar rustle behind him, and sighed.  Flown off to God knows where again, he thought.  Dean stood wearily, disappointment settling in his gut and turned around.

And took a step forward, started.

Cas was still in the room, sitting on a chair next to the television, removing his shoes.  The noise that Dean had heard had apparently been the angel removing his new trench coat and suit jacket, draping them neatly over the back of the chair.  Castiel set his shoes neatly under the chair, removed his belt, and was setting to work on his shirt buttons in the space it took Dean to work his jaw a few times with surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asked, in a voice that emerged higher than Dean would ever admit to.

“What does it look like, Dean?” Cas said, not bothering to look up from his buttons as he responded.  “I’m coming to bed.”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Cas made short work of the rest of his clothes, stripping down to his oversized boxers and undershirt, before crossing the room and getting into Dean’s bed, pulling the covers over himself without so much as a howdy-do.  Dean could see him stretching under the covers like a cat, before he looked back over at Dean, who was still rooted to his spot, a few steps from the foot of the bed.

“Aren’t you coming?” Castiel asked, his familiar confused squint in place.  “I thought you said you were tired?”  He patted the empty side of the bed beside him, which was quite awkwardly the only bed in the room.

“Um…yeah,” Dean said slowly, turning to cross over to the other side of the bed.  He tripped over his own two feet as he did so, and had to brace his fall on the corner of the mattress.  He quickly got into the other side of the bed, careful not to let himself touch Castiel, and pulled the covers up to his chin in an effort to hide the red flush on his face.

He’d always assumed it would be awkward, the first time, when he and Castiel finally took the plunge and hooked up.  After all, Cas barely knew which way was up when it came to this kind of thing, and Dean’ experience with guys was limited, to say the least.  He had always imagined, though, that they would fumble through it just fine and come out pretty damn happy on the other end. But Cas was just looking over at him with a familiar calm expression on his face, and Dean was the one acting like a blushing virgin on prom night.   _Figures._   Nothing was going his way this year.  At least he had taken a shower today (not that this had been what was expecting).

“So, Dean croaked out, trying to get control of the situation, “you sleep now?”

“Yes.  In addition to not being able to fly, it seems that utilizing borrowed grace requires me to sleep for a short period each day.  It is very annoying.”  Cas stretched an arm over his head, tucking it under his pillow. 

‘So that’s what we’re doing?”  Dean asked, confused.  “Sleeping?”  He was kind of glad, to be honest.  He was so tired that he wasn’t sure he could get it up right now.  And if  _that_  ever happened, he might as well just grab his gun and end it.  “Yes,” Castiel answered, firmly.  “You said you need to sleep before we discuss your homecoming, and I am not returning to the Bunker without you. So—“

“Jesus  _Christ_ , Cas!” Dean rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.  He should have known.

“I can’t go back, Cas.  I just can’t.  Leave it alone.” Dean’s voice was muffled by the pillow, but he figured Cas and his Superman hearing would get the point.  Dean squeezed his eyes shut and tried to sleep, trying to ignore the sound of Cas breathing next to him.  After a long moment, he felt a warm hand gently rest on his shoulder. 

Castiel spoke in the darkness, almost too low to be heard, “Dean, the only part I enjoy about being an angel again is that I have regained the ability to see your soul.  Please believe me when I tell you that you are still as bright, still as  _magnificent_  as you were on the day that we first met.”  Dean drew a breath, and turned his head on the pillow towards Castiel, an automatic denial on his lips.  Before he could speak, the other man closed the space between them, resting his head on Dean’s pillow.  He was so close that Dean could feel Cas’s warm breath against his lips as the angel spoke.  “When you are ready to go back, I am sure that Sam will welcome you with open arms.  Until then, I’ll be here with you.  For as long as you need.”

Cas moved his hand from Dean’s shoulder to his cheek.  “You have people that care about you, Dean.  You don’t have to be alone.”  Cas stroked his thumb across Dean’s cheekbone, regarding Dean with a look that spoke volumes of friendship, respect, trust, and love.  Dean closed his eyes and let himself pretend, just for a moment, that he deserved it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://mrsbobbysinger.tumblr.com/


End file.
